And so the Story Goes
by sawruhr
Summary: Contrary to popular belief, Trent and Courtney aren't a result of Duncan and Gwen. Trent/Courtney. A series of oneshots.
1. I'd rather waste my time with her

**Okay, there's a severe lack of Trent/Courtney in the fandom, so I'm doing my part to keep the ship afloat. This is just going to be a series of oneshots dedicated to the pair. Rating and genre might change throughout; it'll be listed at the beginning of each chapter.**

**Summary: Trent and Courtney discuss a broken violin. Sort of.  
Takes place: 1x05, "Not Quite Famous"  
Genre: General**  
**Rating: K**

She's sitting at the dock, the thin film of moss digging into her pants, and feet hanging off the edge, swinging idly. Her destroyed violin, a gift from her parents, was now dead at her side, oddly still beautiful despite the atrocious condition. Her head is still pounding from the accident and the makeshift wrap that Chef had oh so gently applied was doing nothing. In fact, it was more for show than anything else.

If Trent had any intention of making conversation, he would have been more subtle. But, as he walked back to his cabin, toiletries in hand, he, like all those who were milling around, saw the brown haired girl sitting dejected on the dock. Courtney, was it? He was going to ignore her. Even Geoff and DJ, both considerably nicer than Trent, neglected to comfort their teammate. But, it was the violin that caught his attention. He wasn't aware there was another musical competitor.

"Courtney, right?" he spoke, coming up behind her on the dock, trying to sound friendly to his pseudo-opponent. And Trent was, if anything, friendly. She seemed to spring up and stiffen, hands moving from her lap to clamp onto the edge of the dock. She turned slowly, hesitantly, looking over her shoulder.

"Yes, what do _you _want?" she bit out, dark (almost black, he noted) eyes narrowed suspiciously. Trent tried not to frown. For some reason, he got the impression that she was amiable, especially given her kind introduction. Then again, he barely knew her (or anyone of the island for that matter).

"That's a nice violin," he commented. That was now ruined. Smooth, Trent, real smooth. No wonder things with him and Gwen were moving at snail's pace. The freckled girl huffed and simply turned back to the water, crossing her arms tightly over her chest and sitting with her back straight. Standing awkwardly behind her, Trent shifted the toiletries in his hand, taking a glance around the area. Tyler and Lindsay were down the shore, hidden by a multitude of jagged rocks while they whispered and giggled to each other, and Katie and Sadie were laying in the grass near the closest cabins, gushing over whatever it was those two talked about (which Trent honestly didn't care much for).

He should go. Yep, as simple as that. Turn around, walk down the dock and back to his cabin. Maybe have a chat with Gwen who was still moping about her exposed diary. Yeah, that sounded about right. He glanced at Courtney. Then at her violin.

"My younger brother destroyed my first guitar," he offered, shifting backwards, ready to leave after such "condolences".

"Probably because you _sucked_," spat Courtney, not bothering to turn and look at him. Trent furrowed his eyebrows. She was about to be on his "People to Avoid on the Island" list, which as of now consisted solely of Duncan. (Courtney had the same kind of list. Trent was number six)

"Well, no, but that's not really the point," he remarked, trying not to get short with her. He was doing pretty well, considering she was being anything but hospitable. When she didn't respond, he continued. "My dad wouldn't get me a new one, so I had to get a job to raise money for the one I have now." He paused, unsure.

"So, you can always get another," he finished, feeling like a, what was it the English said, twat? He was never one of a smooth talker, but he was never so…_lame_. Courtney snorted.

"This violin was four _hundred _dollars. That's a lot of money in case you didn't know," she sniped, turning her head slightly to glare at him over her shoulder. Trent decided not to question _why _anyone would bring a $400 violin to a game show.

"I'm just trying to be nice," he mumbled, "but forget it." He turned abruptly and started to walk away, his flip flops making smacking sounds on the near-rotting wood.

"You could use a little work." Trent stopped, half turning to see Courtney looking at him, this time not as defensive or threatening.

"You're not really hitting the notes at the right pitch. They fall flat. I use to do that a lot when I was younger," she stated, like a child reciting a lesson. He stared at her blankly, not exactly sure what kind of response her statement garnered.

"You can come sit down, you know," she snapped after a moment, her eyebrows dropping like falcons. She went back to watching the water, but whether she didn't want to put pressure on him or if she just didn't care, Trent was unsure of. Curious, he reluctantly made his way to her side, quietly taking a seat next to the remains of her instrument.

"Congrats on your win." It was awkward, and forced, but it seemed like the best choice at the moment. Courtney nearly broke into a smile.

"All thanks to Harold." Then she sneered. "If Bridgette didn't drop on my violin, _I _would've won for my team." Unconsciously, Trent chuckled to himself.

"Dropped a Bridgette on it," he said, more so to himself than her. Courtney gave him a questioning look, trying to find the humor or tricks behind his behavior.

"It's a trope thing," he explained. She stared blankly.

"Never mind. You're the only other person here that has an instrument. If it wasn't ruined, we could've played something together," he commented offhand, staring at the setting sun that gave the dinky camp a slightly more appealing appearance.

Courtney gave him a pointed look, leaning back a bit. "We're on opposing teams," she said, he voice tense, stressing the fact that they were considered enemies. Trent shrugged.

"Well, yeah, but that doesn't mean we can't be friends," he said, and, testing the waters, gave her the smallest of smiles. Her lips parted for a moment, eyes widened, before her entire expression scrunched up, her dark, dark eyes boring holes into his own lime ones.

"I didn't come here to make friends," she defended, hurriedly standing up. Why did that sound like something Heather would say? She gave him a flustered glare before turning and marching down the wooden dock, her wedges making harsh thumps on the old paneling. Trent slowly stood up, toiletries hanging loosely in his arms.

"You forgot your violin!" he called, glancing down at the mangled mess.

"It's useless now!" she shouted back, stomping off to her cabin. Trent watched her retreating figure, then returned his gaze to the broken violin.

**I know _nothing _about music, so forgive me for any inconsistencies. If you have any requests, just put them in a review. If I like the idea, I'll go with it and credit you. :]**


	2. There's something wrong with this place

**Thanks Shadowed Theatre for the idea! I usually don't update this fast but I was in the mood.**

**:::  
**

**Summary: Courtney deals with a puke covered Trent.  
Takes place: 1x11, "Who Can You Trust?" (Heather was the one attacked by a jellyfish. Courtney got beaten up by apples.)  
Genre: Humor? (I'm not really good at the lulz)  
Rating: K+ (considering the grossness) **

**:::  
**

By the time Chef had carried her (_ewwwww_) to the infirmary tent, Courtney felt like she was about to pass out. Every part of her body ached, and she _prayed _she wouldn't have bruises. Not that it mattered, since Courtney guaranteed Sadie was going to be off the island, _pronto_.

Like a sack of spoiled potatoes, Nurse Chef tossed her on a lumpy cot next to someone else. Someone who _stank_.

"Ewwww!" the brunette whined, trying fruitlessly to struggle out of Chef's hold as he held her down.

"Relax crazy! I'm gunna go get you some of Chef's special tea, hehehe," mumbled Chef, tossing a blanket over her as if that would hold her down, and exiting the tent. Courtney started to fumble through the blanket, her arms severely aching, and the smell of-of…_vomit!_

"Co-Courtney?" Courtney froze and snapped her head to the right, seeing…Trent! That was his name, Trent. Seeing Trent in a bed of his own vomit, frozen in place in a rather…odd pose, Courtney almost felt bad for him, but she was starting to get nauseous herself.

"What the heck happened to you?" she asked, shying away and scrunching up her nose. She had to get out of here, soon. Trent seemed to struggle to move his mouth or even his tongue, instead making gurgling noises. Courtney welcomed this, focusing on untangling herself from the bed sheets and blanket, which were now starting to test her patience.

"Lin-Lindsay," Trent managed to get out. _Ohhhh_. Well, that explained a lot. Not that Courtney cared. (Though, conflict in the Screaming Gophers did always seem to brighten up her day considerably.)

"Good for you. I got assaulted by apples." With that, she pushed the heavy blanket off, using more force than necessary, sending it half on Trent's paralyzed body and half hanging off the bed in a puddle of vomit that had managed to fall to the ground. The green eyed boy started making those noises again, his body straining to move and blue face twitching. Courtney didn't have the power to laugh, nor did it overshadow her utter disgust at the moment. She chose to roll of the bed, landing between the two cots. Met with vomit, she reeled back and stiffened. Okay, so she should have landed on the other side.

"Co-Court-neeey!" whined Trent in a nasally voice, probably suffocating from the heavy blanket on his prone figure. Courtney spared him a glance before hurriedly crawling to a cot across the room, intent on making as much room between herself and Captain Puke.

"Courtneeeey!" Courtney's head snapped over to Trent's cot, where her opponent was in the worst possible situation at the moment, pleading for her help. She sighed. It always fell to the bigger person (in this case, obviously her) to do the right thing. It was a good thing Courtney had morals, unlike _some _people (note: Duncan), or she would've left Trent to suffer in hopes of further crippling the enemy team. She crawled back, already starting to lose the feeling in her arms again, and grabbed the edge of the blanket before yanking, pulling it down to the floor where it made a _plopping _sound as it fell into the puke puddle on the floor. Grabbing the edge of the cot, the brunette struggled to get to her feet, her head pounding and the smell of vomit nearly _choking_ her.

"Happy?" she panted out, one hand supporting her frame on the cot, the other on her knee to steady. Trent's mouth seemed to quirk upward. A smile? It looked like he was hyped up on happy gas. It would've been more effective if Trent wasn't lying in a bed of his vomit, looking blue, and smelling repulsive. He looked awful, his usual well kept (and gelled) hair a mess and his neat clothes stained. Courtney managed to return his "smile".

"You've looked better." She then promptly passed out.

**::**

**Chef then returns and puts her in a cot across the room. Yeah. **

**Thanks for the reviews! I'm glad you guys are liking this. I'm open to all suggestions really so feel free to put some ideas out there. Spread the Trent/Courtney love. ;D**

**(Just wanted to add in that Courtney isn't as unforgiving in TDI as she ends up being in the sequels, hence the reason she even bothered to help Trent. Those morals she mentioned. Yeah, those don't carry through to TDA I guess, haha.)**


	3. I try to compensate her lack of love

**Another quick update. Came to me tonight.**

**:::**

**Summary: A teen magazine questions the nonexistent relationship between Trent and Courtney.**  
**Takes place: Somewhere between the second and third aftermath. (After the Duncan/Gwen wrestle to the ground vid was shown)**  
**Genre: General**  
**Rating: T (one minor curse)**

**:::**

"Did you know anything about this?" A copy of $taarz magazine landed next to the glass that was currently occupying Trent's soda, the cover photo of Celine Dion glaring at the unseen teen audience. And here, in the safety of one of the many lounges of the Aftermath Studio, Trent thought he could sulk in peace.

He sighed, leaning even further into his hands, his elbows propped up on the table that now held not only his comfort drink (_Pepsi_) but a teen magazine as well.

"I'm kind of busy," he mumbled, staring dejectedly at the three (not _nine)_ icecubes in his soda. He wasn't necessarily getting over Gwen, just dealing without her. Courtney rolled her eyes and huffed, grabbing the magazine and flipping pages before she landed on the one she wanted, slamming it down in front of Trent.

The photo of Duncan and Gwen was blown up, high definition, and made Trent want to gag.

"Why are you showing me this?" he grumbled, pushing the magazine away and crossing his arms. Courtney sniffed.

"_This _is a special done of the cast couples, in case you didn't know. And you and I both know there's something going on between those two," explained Courtney, reaching for the magazine.

"But, that's not the point." Bullshit, thought Trent. Duncan was always the point.

"_This_ is." She pushed the magazine right up to his nose. It was a small section, just a column on the edge of the page. The title: _"Trentney?" _

To be honest, Trent never remembered taking the photo. It looked almost blurry, but it was understandable. It was Courtney, dressed in her gray bikini, reading from her PDA on a beach lounge chair, and Trent, sitting on the edge of her seat, pouring sunscreen lotion into his hand. Neither seemed to notice each other.

"This is…" Trent was unsure _what _it was.

"Playa de Losers," remarked Courtney. Ah. He remembered, albeit barely. After arriving, he had wanted to make the most of the pool, but didn't want his fair skin to burn. Courtney had seldom touched her sunscreen, and didn't protest when he asked for it. He reached to take the magazine from her, eyes curiously skimming over the article.

_What with all the buzz about unconventional pair Duncan and Gwen, one has to wonder, how are CIT Courtney and pretty boy Trent dealing? _ _Or, is dealing the real issue folks? That's right, while all eyes are on the Duncan Gwen ship, what have Courtney and Trent been up to? It's been confirmed, Courtney's not taking the rumors well and Trent is just all around mopey. But, is that all for the cameras? With barely little interaction, these two haven't exactly been the target of any suspicion, but there has been a buzz going around. Could it be possible, love in the air between these two costars, both out of touch with their former relationship-ee? _

The article went on to describe a bit about the two individuals, ending with a short paragraph about their mutual love for music and Trent's down to earth personality vs. Courtney's wild side.

"Well?" barked Courtney, glaring full force at the pretty boy. Trent frowned, scrunching his eyebrows together.

"It was written by a Blaineley." That was all he could really say at the moment. The air was already beginning to feel awkward. Courtney huffed.

"She'll be seeing my lawyer, _obviously_. It's bad enough that Duncan is betraying me, I don't need _more _drama," she stated, crossing her arms. Trent didn't bother arguing that Duncan wasn't technically with Gwen (at least, going on what Gwen said in the last aftermath) since he _really _didn't want to be on the receiving end of Courtney's wrath. Most would consider Heather the one to not upset, or even the violent Eva, but Courtney had a special kind of temper that was better left untouched.

"Well, it's not true," commented Trent, placing the magazine on the table and leaning back in his chair, feigning casualness. He was a bit uneasy around Courtney. Everyone was.

"Of course it's not." Courtney was quick to answer. "And it better not give you any ideas. I'm way out of your league." Trent raised an eyebrow.

"Shouldn't you be raising hell on Gwen over the other article?" he remarked, trying not to rile the brunette up, but not exactly comfortable in her presence. She rolled her eyes and snorted.

"Like I'm wasting time on _her _anymore. Shouldn't you be trying to win her back?"

"It's over," mumbled Trent, glancing down at the article, pretending to be distracted by the photo of himself and Courtney. They sat (well, stood, in Courtney's case) in silence for a moment.

"I don't have a wild side," blurted Courtney, giving him a narrowed look. A warning look.

"And I'm not a pretty boy," responded Trent, avoiding her eyes. The silence returned, this time a bit longer.

"But I get it." Courtney broke it, again. "How you're feeling. Even a complete loser like you deserves _some _pity."

"Gee," commented Trent dryly, "thanks. Is there anything else you need?"

"Just thought I should let you know, I didn't leak anything to anyone about the nonexistent relationship between us," stated Courtney, in her matter a fact way, as she snatched the magazine from the table and closed it. Trent shrugged.

"I didn't either, but people are going to talk one way or another," he said, looking up at the ex-CIT. "But at least we can both agree we would make a better couple than Gwen and Duncan." They shared a small sort of smile.

**:::**

**Sorry most of these lack "romance" but I'm a bit more interested in the already scarce interaction they had. Thought, I may build up to something more, or have something where they're in an already established relationship. Thanks for the reviews and ideas, I'm taking them all into consideration. :]**


	4. The future freaks me out

**A short and bitter piece. As always, thanks for the reviews and ideas.  
**

**:::**

**Summary: Trent wonders if he's just second best.**  
**Takes place: Some time after the Total Drama series. Spoilers from the aftermaths.**  
**Genre: Angst **  
**Rating: T (language?)**

**:::**

He hasn't been sleeping well recently. It's those damn cases, the ones she stays overnight at her office for. Trent's wife is an overworked lawyer. A _determined _overworked lawyer.

After a while, he should have gotten use to it. Should have. But now, every night he tucks in his four year old daughter, his green eyes stare into her own dark, dark ones. She doesn't ask where mommy is; she's always working.

He sits in his studio, the converted basement, and strums his guitar, stopping to write in idle notes. It's just to waste time, to distract him because all he can think about is _her _and _him_. It's been nine years since that age old reality show, but he can't help but let his mind wander.

Sometimes, Trent wonders if he's just second best. He can't be, he presses, because Courtney always goes for the best. But, sometimes, just sometimes, he sees her looking through childhood things (Courtney was oddly sentimental), always pausing to fondly eye a skull carved out of wood. She doesn't mention it. Neither does he.

He doesn't know where her ex is, and he hardly gives a damn. He kept in contact with _his _ex, but now it's just twice a year courtesy calls, and she's out in Europe with her Italian boyfriend who plays the piano and writes poetry.

He likes to think he was never the jealous type (because if he was, his wife's ex would've been buried quite a long time ago) and he doesn't want to be, fingers nearly plucking out guitar strings in frustration. He's weak and she's just so strong. He's just second best to her.

She comes home at 2 AM, dress suit wrinkled, purse about to fall off her shoulder. He's sitting in the dark den, watching his old Total Drama DVDs.

"Hey, pretty boy, what are you watching?" she asks rhetorically, coming to sit on the armrest, one dainty tanned hand ruffling his hair. On the screen, Courtney rolls her eyes at Geoff and Bridgette.

"_Trent is a loser- by choice!"_

She doesn't say anything when she hears this, staring blankly at the screen. Trent stares too, the footage running and causing lights to flint across their faces in the dark room. She shifts, uncomfortably.

"Is Dania in bed?" It's clinical, that's how she is now. He nods.

"Why are you watching this?" He doesn't know how to respond. So instead he asks:

"Do you love me?"

She kisses him, tender and passionate. And, he sickly realizes, he can't tell if it's genuine or just a distraction.

**:::**

**Yes, yes, ambiguous sad ending. If you didn't get it, Gwen and Duncan are the exes. The rest I'm sure you can figure out/see as you want.**


	5. She hates to be alone

**Merry Christmas to all of you who celebrate! Sorry for the long wait, but this is more of a spontaneous project and I haven't been having much inspiration.**

**:::**

**Summary: Years later, it finally happened.  
Takes place: years later  
Genre: Humor, Friendship (but not really)  
Rating: T (language)  
**

**:::**

"Out of the way." If someone had told Trent last night a woman was moving in, he would have cleaned the toilet.

"Courtney?" The brunette ignored the pajama'd man, pushing him into the door as she grumbled her way through the doorway, a thin film of snow covering her form. She continued her grumbling, carrying snow across the wood flooring as her heavy boots thumped. Trent stared.

Did someone just barge into his apartment at 4 AM?

No, not someone. Trent squinted. Yup, it was Courtney, dressed in a black peacoat, dark jeans, and—red boots. Red coated with white snow.

When Courtney placed her wet bags on his new leather couch, Trent snapped into realization.

It's been how many damn years and what the hell was Courtney of all people doing in his living room? This was _not _happening.

"What the hell are you doing here?" It was blunt but for the sake of Canada, she had just strolled in like she was invited! (Which she definitely was _not_). Courtney sighed in annoyance and flicked her now shorter hair over her shoulder, allowing snow to brush off and fall on the floor and couch.

"You can't just walk in here, this is private prope-"

"Trent, right?" Courtney turned to give him a lawyer's glare, one perfectly waxed eyebrow lifting as she placed her gloved hands on her hips. Trent didn't respond. What the hell was going on?

Courtney, as usual, didn't expect one. "I need a place to stay, and looks like you're my last resort."

…_what?_

"…_what?" _

She might have just said someone shit on the coats, because he was experiencing the same feeling of disbelief.

Courtney sent him a glare as she yanked off her gloves and started to unbutton her peacoat. "You know me, right? Good. I need someone to stay with for a while and looks like you're that someone." She tossed the coat onto the back of his couch and ran her fingers to her stiff hair, brushing out the snow.

"Where's the bathroom?" she asked, strutting around the room like—like she lived there!

"You can't just barge in here and invite yourself to stay," stuttered Trent, waving his arms around as he moved towards her. She stopped and gave him a stern look, one that made him almost stop resisting.

"And _why not_?" For someone like Courtney, that was a rhetorical question. But Trent answered anyway.

"Because it's my _apartment_. _I _live here. Not you. And, I don't even _know _you," he explained. Courtney rolled her eyes.

"_Please. _The Total Drama series, a couple of years back, Chris McLe-"

"Okay, okay," interrupted Trent, holding his hands up to stop her. "We know each other. But we don't _know _each other." When Courtney continued to give him a "what's your point look" and the snow from her boots had begun to melt onto his wood paneling, Trent continued.

"Like, I wouldn't just barge into your house. Or someone else's from the series, say Cody." Okay, so maybe he _would_ barge into Cody's house, but that's because they were in a band together. That sort of stuff was normal.

"Look," started Courtney, looking almost not irritated for a moment. "I already tried a week at Lindsay's house, but she's _impossible _to live with."

Trent cringed. He remembered his own few months as Lindsay's boyfriend, and their subsequent breakup. It went well. She didn't seem to really recall it, but then again, you could never tell with her.

"And as much as I hate Duncan, I tried his place, but he's still in jail, _as usual_. His lawyer's completely incompetent. For once I almost wish Duncan called me up to represent him. I owe him, _I guess_." Trent still didn't understand where he came in.

"Well?" he stressed when she got this _look _in her eyes, like she was reminiscing. Trent usually saw that look on his grandmother's face.

"I crashed at Justin's for a bit, but as you can imagine, it was filled with brainless blondes in playboy outfits." She made a face, nose crinkling in disgust and freckles scrunching in response. "And I checked up with Cody and Harold, your two little friends; Harold was out of town working on some album and Cody hasn't been picking up his phone. You're the only other person who I know that lives close enough to my workplace." With that she let out a breath, as if she had to explain some complicated procedure to him, like brain surgery or something. Trent could learn that on his own if he tried, thankyouverymuch.

So, she had searched the entire area near her work (and knowing Courtney, she probably looked for anyone within a five hour distance of her job—she was pretty determined), and had given up, finally falling on her last choice, him.

"How far is your work from here?" Sure, he could have asked a lot more other questions at this point, but his mind was on this at the moment.

Courtney shrugged. "About 15 minutes." There was a moment of silence. A beat.

"Am I the closest one to your job." Courtney seemed to consider this for a moment, but Trent could tell it was just for show, and he was almost reminded of those sleezy politicians who did everything for other people's approval.

"I suppose so," she answered, like a guess. Trent felt his eyebrow twitch. He _was _a last resort. If he lived so close to her work, she would've been on him the first day, but she delayed and went to others.

"You can't stay here," he stated, now pass his surprise as he moved to open his front door. Courtney quickly jumped to block his path and leaned her back against the door.

"I need a place to stay," she hissed, point one finger at his chest,"There's no way you're throwing me out." Trent took nine calming breaths, just like his psychologist often told him to do in stressful situations.

"What happened to where you use to live?" he asked, rubbing the bridge of his nose. Breathe in, breathe out. Nine, nine, nine.

"The IRS, what else?" she responded sarcastically, rolling her onyx eyes and casually twirling her hand. When Trent gave no indication of understanding, she sighed, not so much arrogant, but tired.

"Rent happened. Which I didn't have. So now I need somewhere to stay until I get back on my feet, comprende?" She still wasn't asking, just demanding. Still, she seemed pretty desperate.

Trent almost smiled at the ridiculous situation he was thrown into.

Years later, it finally happened. Courtney needed help.

**:::**

**Don't know if there's going to be a second part to this or not, but thought it was an interesting idea. Tell me what you think and keep on suggesting.**

**(By the way, did anyone catch that little Dane Cook reference I threw in?)**


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